


Before I Go

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alpha Eren, Alpha Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Alpha/Alpha, Art School, Artist!Levi, Artsy Eren, Cameras, Deppression, Drama, German Eren Yeager, High School Drama, Leukemia, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Me and Earl and The Dying Girl AU, NSFW, Oral Sex, Pining Levi, Pop Culture Refrences, Smut, a/o/b universe, film school, hella gay, movies - Freeform, pining eren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 19:11:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Eren and Jean are work partners. They have been for nearly eight years at this point- ever since Reiner's mother fucking parrot chased Eren for two blocks down the street and Jean had to nearly punch the damned thing to keep it from pecking Eren's eyes out. Jean considers them to be friends. "Friend" was too much of a threatening word for Eren.They weren't bullied, they weren't misfits, they were justinvisible. Eren was obsessed with the camera his mother had bought him at a garage sale, and Jean never stopped humming early 2000's punk rock band's music.Levi wasn't the complete opposite as would be expected, either. He was a dorky student hoping to attend an art school after he graduated high school. Eren didn't know him all too well. In fact, their encounters were limited to small "hello's" and well-intended greetings.Their relationship wasn't intended to grow any further than that, but Eren's mother decided that it would be at best -after she got a call from her friend, Kutchel, who was Levi's mother- if they hung out; all due to Levi being diagnosed with Leukemia.Thus beginning their awkward friendship- and perhaps, romance.Eren doesn't even care that Levi is another Alpha.





	1. Exposure Compensation

**Author's Note:**

> "You have no idea what the fuck you're doing, do you?"
> 
> Nope.

I have no fucking idea as to how I’m supposed to start this story.

If this was any other story out in our never ending universe, it would start with something basic. All stories are basic. Even though most would hate to admit such a thing, even this story is basic. Romances are always the same, despite what some might say. To prove my point, walk into Walmart this very instant and make your way to the book section that is never ever used. Pick up a romance book, and read the back and/or summary. Then, step sideways three feet and pick up another novel. Follow these pitiful steps of appearing as if you’re a middle aged woman with more cats than reasons to live, and 9 times out of 10, they will be practically the same thing. Believe me, I’ve tried it. My life just so boring in the long run, that I have to actually travel to Walmart to bring entertainment to myself.

High school was the same in many ways. It was basic. As a child, I always thought that movies over a teen’s life were just an over-exaggeration. Truth be told, they weren’t that far from reality. Excluding the seeming need to fit into a certain “clique,” as was illustrated in the masterpieces of _The Breakfast Club,_ and many other teenage films that had the opportunity of covering the world’s youth. I never situated myself into a certain clique. Such things were uneventful, and my least favorite thing in the world: basic. Just like those romance books that pollute the book section of Walmart.

Perhaps, I can start this story with a classic work of literature intro. But that wouldn’t be original. Hell, when was the things that I created _ever_ original? The story I’m telling of as now is exactly like stories told in the past. A story about someone with a terminal illness? Have you ever heard of _The Fault in Our Stars?_ The only differences between this story and that, was that John Green’s story had been a work of fiction, and he was actually a talented writer. I’m just a kid with a notebook who happens to document their life as of late, for some strange, extremely abnormal reason.

For most of the years leading up to the main events of this story, I was a complete and absolute loner who had existential crisis’s nearly every other day. Later, you’ll come to find out that he had also been in the same boat as me. That’s where this story varies slightly from the path of many other “romances.” He wasn’t some ginormous, football player who was a complete and utter dick to those around him. He didn’t have some blonde bimbo on his arm each and every waking moment, and even more than that, wishing to take his anger out on the weak-minded. If that _had_ been the case, I’m pretty sure he would’ve bullied me to the highest extent.

He was a teen no different than me. He was hoping to attend some kind of art school that I didn’t remember the name of, and he was just as much of a loner as of I. Was that a good thing? I think the answer is quite clear and undiscussable. I mean, if anyone was going to be like me, you might as well hand them a sticker with: “Hello, my name’s Pathetic,” written on it in bold font. And not even in the slightly conspicuous red font that is usually put on the introduction stickers, I’m talking about black, extremely visible font that could probably be observed from a mile away.

The most I could say about the whole status of our relationship trailed back to simple greetings and my horrible attempts for humor every time I happened to cross paths with him. I had always been sarcastic. Even as a child. I’m pretty sure that the first sentence I ever spoke was something that would’ve been expected from an angsty teen’s mouth rather than a baby. Entirely, that’s beside the point.

My point _is_ however, that I was barely even acquainted with him when my mother marched up to my room and said that one of her friend’s sons had just been diagnosed with leukemia. The thing was that my mother had a lot of friends, so I had no idea who she was speaking of. That’s why I had acted as if I entirely didn’t care about the whole situation, until she said that it was Kutchel Ackerman’s son; also known as Levi.

…

Jean Kirestein was an acquaintance of mine; that’s what he had always been in my eyes. Friend was too much of a threatening word. I guess I was scared of commitment. I had first met him when I was around the age of ten-years-old. In fact, his house was just a short walk from mine, it being around exactly an eight minute walk down to the poorer, worse parts of town. His father had left their family when Jean was about 4, and his mother was just barely able to support their family, and Jean’s older brother, Reiner, was practically too sassy to function for the greater time that was his life. He also owned a parrot that would probably kill me one day due to its insensitive, incoherent nature. The mother fucker even had the audacity to chase me down the street as soon as I met Jean for the first time.

I had never managed to call him my friend in our eight long years of friendship, but he never seemed to mind all that much. He never questioned my inability to do so, and thus our “partnership” became stronger year after year. We were practically inseparable after that day with that damn parrot. In a way, I’d like to thank that bird, but at the same time, I want to practically strangle Reiner for allowing the cursed thing outside of his home in the first place.

We didn’t have a lot of things in common for the most part, which made our partnership extremely difficult. Jean had an obsession with early 2000’s punk rock bands for some strange reason, and I was obsessed with the camera that my mother had bought me for my tenth birthday and filming things of my choice; stop motion, mostly. Jean didn’t understand why I had such an obsession with that video camera, but I didn’t care. I judged him for constantly air drumming to Blink-182 and Green Day songs, so I guess it was just his way of getting even. For me, it was the movies I created. For him, it was Nirvana. As my mother used to say: _”It takes all kinds for this world to operate.”_

We hung out practically constantly, as well. Whether it be after school when I would force him to star in the movies I would create, or during our lunch periods, where we would spend the entire time watching movies through illegal websites while stealing our English teacher’s hotspot wifi. In my defense, our school’s wifi was absolutely horrible, so you couldn’t blame me in the least. And it hadn’t even of been my idea originally; it was Jean who broke into her computer to fetch himself the password- which was as illegal as the website we used daily to watch movies that had just recently came out.

I was basically invisible to everyone else out in the world excluding my family, teachers, and Jean. For my classmates, however, I was practically nothing in their eyes. I was just the kid in the back of the class that made snarky comments occasionally at whatever the teacher decided to speak about. I was the student who occasionally was called on the teacher, and stuttered for an answer like every other human. If you asked someone who Eren Jaeger was, they may be able to say that I was in one of their classes, or that I was a funny kid. If I ever happened to disappear one day, no one would notice my absence. They’d probably look back at my desk and question as to why it was the only empty one in the room, but they wouldn’t be able to pin a name on the student who once sat there. That was just the truth; and that’s how I liked to live. I didn’t want to be recognizable; that’s how I survived.

While everyone else in the world was out searching for attention, I was hiding from it. Think of the whole situation like this: attention is very similar to the world’s greatest predators, like lions or tigers. Humans are nothing but child-like minds who only wish to go see their favorite animals in the zoo from behind bars. While these predators are in their enclosure, many children want to be able to pet and/or own them. Maybe it’s their shiny fur, or promise for entertainment that gains the love of younger passer-byers. Only after is the animal released from its cage, is when you realize how dangerous they are in the real world. Or, in other words, I’m a terrified herbivore, and the lion –also known as “attention”- is staring at me from the bushes.

…

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing, do you?”

I looked up from my camera and where I was fiddling with the numerous extensions to where Jean was draped over the chair in my lounge. He had been fixated on the movie playing on my old television for the past hour or so, and was just now deciding to glance backwards in my direction to pick fun at my inability of actually understanding less than half of the functions of the video camera. I could smell the potato chips he was eating sloppily, and my mouth instantly watered. I hadn’t of eaten anything all day and hunger was just now starting to hit me.

“No, of course I know what I’m doing!” I defended in a loud voice, frowning at the neighboring male and then down at the electronic device situated in my palm. I wasn’t going to lie, the thing was older than time and space itself, but it worked quite well for its age. Cameras now days could cost thousands upon thousands of dollars, and yet the one that my mother had bought me for my tenth birthday had been as little as five dollars at a garage sale down the street. Still, I had been appreciative of her gift and had been using it for nearly eight years at this point.

Jean didn’t say anything in response, obviously knowing that what I said had been nothing but a lie, and faced forwards again. He knew better than to question my capabilities due to the ways I tended to hold my ground without remorse, so he decided that it was for the greater good if he didn’t comment on the way I still wasn’t able to enable numerous features on the camera; not just numerous, probably a good ¾ of the camera was uncharted territory in my mind. The camera was the westward world, I was Lewis and Clark.

”What is this movie supposed to be about, anyways?” Jean suddenly asked as he reached into the bag of potato chips, “I mean, it makes no fucking sense whatsoever. What were you trying to prove with this plot? Why the hell did you make a movie about a guy with a hole in his chest?”

Suddenly, I felt the urge to punch the horse-faced looking fuck right in the nose.

”Of course, of all people, _you_ wouldn’t understand it,” I looked up from the camera and sighed in agitation at the way I couldn’t fix the broken screen. I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to get a new one, because they were so costly nowadays, but I knew that there was nothing that could be done at this point. “If you couldn’t tell, the guy in the film cannot physically show emotion; i.e, he’s practically dead on the outside, while on the inside, his emotions are working perfectly well.”

Jean looked extremely unamused by my artistic vision with the way that he raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

I threw my hands up in aggravation, “Despite his incapability of showing his emotions –as he would like to keep them bottled up inside of himself without anyone else observing them- he’s unsuccessful because everyone can see his emotions through his heart- or straight through his “perfected mask”.” Hopefully that would be a good enough explanation for him, “It’s like how humans in this world try to hide away their true feelings and end up failing because of the way we can all see through their façade.”

Jean leaned back into his chair, looked up at the ceiling, and then snorted.

”Isn’t that _exactly_ like that one _twenty one pilots_ song?”

I paused. _It was exactly like that one twenty one pilots song…_

Groaning, I tossed my now broken camera from my lap and proceeded to rip the remote control from Jean’s hands, “I didn’t- I didn’t even fucking realize that it was so similar… I didn’t even think about that song while creating this film!” I removed my legs from where I had been sitting on them. They were completely numb from how long I had been sat on the floor near the chair where Jean was situated. Standing on shaky legs, I made my way over to the DVR and removed the disk that had taken me oh-so-long to create, before tossing it onto the floor near the television set. Everything that I attempted to create was completely and utterly unoriginal. I had never realized how much our culture was beginning to effect the way I thought. For once, I thought an idea of mine was completely original- and maybe while I had not been thinking about that song in particular while writing out the script, many others would think that it was basically plagiarism.

”Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Jean warned, his voice was followed by the crunching of chips in his mouth, “I thought that it was somewhat of a good movie. _Heartless_ surely could’ve been the biggest movie of 2017!” I knew that he was just trying to keep my spirits up, but it just wasn’t helping. I was angry at everything in the world- myself being the largest source of hatred. Every original idea was already taken. No matter what I decided to dream up, there was already something out there to illustrate said ideas before I even had the chance.

”Yeah, well that happens every single time I try to make a movie,” I kicked the CD even farther from me than it had been. “Not that you would understand. All that you do consists of talking about how you’re someday going to start up a band with a few of your friends.”

Jean laughed, “Last time I checked, my only “friend,” per say, happened to be you, unfortunately.”


	2. Aperture Adjusting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Can I hang up now?"_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "Go ahead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has decided to read this! Thank you guys for 100+ hits!

To survive school, or more importantly, life, you must learn to become an object in the background of all images. You can’t label yourself as anything in particular and god knows that picking fights with those around you is the worst of ideas. “Invisible” isn’t the term I’d like to use when referring to whatever this will one day be called, but it’s close enough that I wouldn’t take offense to the descriptive language. In other terms, you have to make yourself well-known to the students around you, but only at the point where you’re not the first name of a fellow classmate that comes to their mind. I’d much rather have it that the girl that sits next to me in Calc would quickly think of one of our school’s best basketball players instead of me, if she happened to be asked to state a fellow classmate's name.

Jean didn’t want to be in the background of life like I had always been, but somehow in some strange way, that’s where he was instantaneously situated eight years prior. The reason being for terms I’ve never had the opportunity of knowing. Since I had always been such a forgettable face, I related his invisibility back to my shroud of forgetfulness that I happened to pull over every other classmate’s eyes. I know that I’ve already illustrated quite thoroughly that I dislike anything labeled as “basic,” but at times I find myself thanking my mother for providing me with an extremely familiar, and yet annoyingly basic face. 

Brown hair wasn’t anything rare: in fact, it is the world’s second most popular right behind black. Characterized by higher levels of the dark pigment eumelanin, and lower levels of the paler pigment pheomelanin, it’s extremely common. The only thing that wasn’t common was the description I had just used to describe it. Jean argues that I’m naturally tan, but in reality, I’m quite the opposite. I was born and raised in Germany for 7 years of my life, so tan skin wasn’t anything to be expected from me. The only thing that could be considered rare in the least, were my green eyes; which puts the world population on a platter of only 1%-2%. But even then, my eyes have the slightest hint of gold undertones hidden about the irises, which would put me in a group of 12% of humans with “some form of green” within their eyes. Oval face shape -don’t know what that is? Look at Jake Gyllenhaal’s face. Don’t know who that happens to be? Just watch _Brokeback Mountain_ \- and a semi-normal nose that’s larger than I’d like to admit. Alpha: 34% of the world's population. In no way am I attractive- and perhaps that’s why no one ever remembers me. It’s not even like I have a nice body to make up for it, unfortunately.

Thus speaking, the previous statements enable me to keep myself at a low profile. Unknown to the school’s highest bullies, and just known enough to become several teacher’s favorite student so I have special privileges as of listening to music during class, or having the ability to skip out on several detentions since I saved the detention teacher’s marriage. My life was in no way perfect, but it was both comfortable and fitting to my own individual needs. It wasn’t the exciting lifestyle of many, but it got me through life as I needed it to. It was like a shitty car; it may not be the best, but it would still get me to where I needed to go- and that’s all I needed.

Jean was different in many aspects. He was annoying, that was a given, and he would blatantly express his opinion with no fears whatsoever regarding repercussion. Despite me wishing to say that such things were horrible, I couldn’t bring myself to ever say something as of that. His blunt honesty is what made him one of the most honest people I know to date; even surpassing my mother in some cases. Surprising? Yes, but not absolutely the worst thing to ever occur on this strange planet. Honesty was slowly becoming a lost cause, and yet Jean was somehow able to restore all meaning within it. He has his flaws, like any other man on the street, but in many ways I’d like to think that he never failed to attempt to his highest capability to either fix whatever that flaw was, or denounce the people that stated it in the first place. Jean didn’t care about what anyone else in the world thought- he had to just be up to his own self-set standards. 

I, however, always failed to set up both goals for myself and/or standards as Jean had. Pure laziness was one of the majoring factors that I could always blame, this time being accompanied by numerous thoughts falling back upon “what if I don’t reach the goals set out for one’s self?” 

Believe it or not, but later on in life, I realized that Levi had always thought the same thing.

...

I remember the exact date and time when my mother received that phone call from Kutchel Ackerman, one of her dear friends during that point in her life. I only know this because of two factors; 1) I had been staring up at the clock as she walked into my room with my father, and 2) It was the second anniversary of the day that _My Chemical Romance_ had broken up (March 22) and Jean wouldn’t stop playing _Welcome to the Black Parade_ whenever I was in his presence.

“Eren, I need to talk about something with you,” My mother said, pushing open the door to my room with my father right on her tail still dressed in a robe despite it being around four that evening. As soon as she stepped into the threshold, she hung up her phone and tightly crossed her arms; a habit of her’s whenever she was nervous or stressed- or in these circumstances, all of the above.

I shut my laptop from where it had been positioned in my lap and set it onto my bed next to me, acting entirely as if I hadn’t of just been watching porn as any normal teenage boy would. Such acts would be expected from my parents- except for the fact that it most definetley wasn’t heterosexual porn, and I wasn’t quite in the mood of having to explain myself and my questioning mind at that time in particular, or how about forever.

“Uh- um, what do you want, guys?” I said awkwardly, watching my Dad hold our beloved family cat in his arms as he pet it behind its calico ears.

Without a word being spoken, Mom made her way over to where my desk was situated and pulled out the chair, setting herself down in it before sighing through her nose and holding out her hand. It was obviously an attempt in getting me to join her across the room.

One small glance from my father, and I quickly realized that this wasn’t an option. Begrudgingly, I stood from my mattress and walked over to her, placing my hand in her’s to let her know that I was at her full attention for whatever she was going to say. I could only estimate that it was something drastically horrible, since the last time that they followed a script as of this one was back when my Uncle Stewart was in a motorcycle accident. 

Mom sighed for a second time that evening, “Do you know Kutchel? My friend back from college that I told you about?” She took her other hand and used it to wrap around the back of my own. 

I faintly remembered her telling me a few stories about her and her best friend’s shenanigans throughout school, but anything more than that was just a blur within my mind. I shook my head no. Mom looked slightly distraught from my honest answer, but decided not to furthermore that question in particular. 

“Well,” eyebrows furrowed together, lips pouted, and eyes trailed away from my very own gaze, “Her son, Levi -you probably know him from school- was just diagnosed with leukemia.” 

A small rock of sadness settled into the pit of my stomach with such words being spoken. Of course, I didn’t know the male all that well from our weekly to monthly greetings, but It was rather apparent that he never deserved for such a diagnosis to ever fall into his lap like it had. I tried to remain concerned for his well-being for the most part, but I had no emotional relations with the lonesome raven that walked my school’s halls. Why was she telling me this?

“Oh,” was all I managed. 

My mother tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear from where it had escaped from her ponytail, and then straightened the glasses perched on the end of her thin nose, “They just got the test results this morning, and Kutchel didn’t know who to call first; she ended up with me.” My father grunted in confirmation, also troubled by the now known condition of the woman’s son.

“That’s… saddening…” I tried. It was good enough for Mom.

“Yes, it really is. Really; such a nice boy and this is how the world decides to repay him. I just wanted to let you know so you could perhaps call him and say a few comforting words- I think it’d really help,” she gave my hand a small squeeze of reassurance, “Keep him in your prayers.”

I nodded and then paused, “I don’t know him.” There was no way that I was going to just suddenly say that I wanted to be friends with someone right after they were diagnosed with a type of cancer. It would sound like nothing other than pity.

Mom didn’t seem to care in the least and stood to leave, “I don’t think knowing him really matters under the given circumstances, Eren. This is a possibility of a friend that you may never even have if it wouldn’t be for a single phone call.”

My mouth was slightly unable to form words for a few seconds before I said: “But Mom, I seriously don’t know him!” Both of my parents failed to turn around and acknowledge my words and over exaggerated hand movements from my slight bit of anger, “What am I going to say anyways? ‘Oh, I know we’ve never talked to each other in our entire lives, but now that you have cancer let’s go hang out!’?” My hands slapped against my legs as I dropped the appendages exasperatedly. 

My father turned around with a scowl on his face, “No you can’t say that; he’ll think you’re being sarcastic.”

...

I ended up having to call Levi Ackerman; not that such a thing was a surprise at this point. After hours of torment from my mother building up like water behind a dam, it all finally exploded and I had to (was forced to) call the number that Kutchel had sent to Mom just in case she herself wanted to say anything to cheer my fellow classmate up. But as of always, she shoveled the task onto me and said that it would be better for Levi to talk about what he’s going through with someone his own age: someone he could relate to. Even though what she said slightly made sense, Levi was most definitely either not going to answer his phone, or be angry at me for calling him out of acts that appeared to be pity. I could only imagine how much of that he’s received already.

Surprisingly, he answered on the third ring.

 _Hello?_ His voice was quiet and even the slightest bit drained, but I chose to ignore that for the time being.

“Hi!” I said enthusiastically, “This is Eren.”

Silence.

“Eren Jaeger, from school,” I corrected just moments afterwards.

_”Oh.”_

Not even fifteen seconds into our conversation, and it was possibly one of the most awkward things I’ve ever happened to be a part of. 

“So, I heard about what happened,” I brought up, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly even though he wasn’t even present in the room, “I just wanted to know how you’re dealing with everything… it must be overwhelming.”

There was the faint noise of shuffling fabric, probably from him moving around, _”I mean… I guess… How did you even find out?”_

A small laugh escaped my throat in hopes of making the conversation a bit lighter, ”My mom supposedly knows your’s from their college years. Apparently, they were great friends and still are to this day.”

Levi cleared his throat and I could practically see the scowl that coated his facial features, _”My Mom talks about her all of the time.”_

“Yeah.”

_”Yeah…_

At that exact moment, I was wishing for nothing other than for a spear to fly through the bay windows located near where I was in my living room and impale me. Through the heart, preferably, so it would be a quick, easy death. I was bad at conversation, he was just as socially awkward as I, and this was one of the worst conversations I have ever had to live through. More than 90% of our shared time was purely awkward silence and my pitiful attempts of jokes and/or asking how he was doing. 

_”If you called to serve me pity, I could really care less; I’ve heard enough of it already,”_ he muttered just audible through the phone’s speaker. I jumped up onto our family’s couch and proceeded to walk across the cushions; bored. 

An expected response, really, but sadly I wasn’t going to give up that easily- mostly because my mother was listening through our paper-thin walls and was ultimately making sure that I was going to call the male and hang out with him. She always had excellent hearing due to her omegan traits, and she wasn’t in the least bit scared to put her abilities to good use. My father had horrible hearing, but not because he was a beta, he had just attended too many _AC/DC_ concerts throughout his life. 

“It’s not pity,” I offered; probably the most shitty attempt I’ve ever had at lying, “I just thought that it would be best if you were able to talk it out with someone...like if we were to hang out.” I placed my hand on the white ceiling above me for balance. 

Levi wasted no time in responding: _”I’d rather not.”_

A feeling of pure, sweet relief rushed through my body. I placed a hand over the speaker to my phone and turned to the direction where the doorway was, and where my mother was leaning about a foot into the entryway to the lounge.

“See? He doesn’t want to talk to me- let alone hang out!”

Mom glared and raised a finger in my direction, “I don’t care about your excuses, young man! He needs a friend right now and Kutchel says that he hasn’t let his room since he got the call from the doctor’s office!” Her eyes were narrowed to the point where they were practically slits, “Tell him that you’ll be coming over later today.”

“Mom!” I yelled/groaned. She wasn’t listening; she had already left to go tend to dinner in the crockpot. 

I uncovered the speaker of my phone reluctantly and feigned obvious aggravation, “Are you sure you don’t want anyone to talk to?”

More shuffling, _”Yeah… quite. My mom is already making appointments for some consular down at the hospital.”_ While I was trying with all of my might to not sound rude and aggravated, Levi wasn’t in the least bit concerned for my own personal feelings. I knew he was always quite the spicy little omega, but damn. He really took the cake here.

“Oh.”

_”Can I hang up now?”_

“Go right ahead.”

...

“I’m not going.”

Mom turned around, practically at the speed of light, and pointed a long wooden spoon in my direction. I know that she was just a small woman who came over from Germany just a few years prior, but she could be scary at times. Right now was one of those times. 

“You’ll do as you’re told, Eren! Even your father agrees with me- which doesn't occur very often! Levi is dealing with a lot right now and he needs someone to be there for him!” I watched -frightened- as a small bit of salsa from the white-chicken chili she was making dropped from the spoon and thus onto the white tiled floor that covered our entire kitchen. Our family cat, Mikasa, eagerly lapped up the spilt food. I swear that cat was going to be obese any day now.

I crossed my arms and tried my best to not appear like a total asshole in my mother’s presence. If Levi had agreed to me hanging out with him during our earlier phone call, I would’ve had no problem in just going over every so often to his home and talking with him. Yeah, it might've been awkward, but my mother was practically threatening me with a wooden spoon, so she had the upper-hand. 

“Please don’t make me,” I whined, dropping my arms to my sides, “He really doesn't want me there!”

My mother practically growled, but turned around to the stove to stir our food before putting the glass lid back onto the crock-pot, “Just wait, you two will be the best of friends. You’ll thank me later.”

_Doubt it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love awkward Levi and Eren.


	3. Shutter Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren has another conversation about Levi Ackerman with his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed already, I get slightly preachy whenever I talk about certain things in a story.

If I could go back into time and meet someone entirely original and intelligent, I would most likely choose to have coffee with the four inventors of the bicycle. When I do happen to say “original,” I now use that term loosely- because even when all four inventors believed for their creation to be like none other ever created, someone across the ocean happened to have the same spark and thoughts that came with it. As much as I would love to listen to Kirkpatrick Macmillan enthusiastically explain the ways of how the pedal bicycle worked in his eyes with that Scottish accent of his, it is also brought to my attention that the French inventor, Pierre Michaux, would also love to have a small chat about how he had created the bicycle. And it doesn’t even stop at that. We could also have Marius Olivier and Pierre Lallement join the party. 

I would love to credit all of these ingenious men with nothing other than great respect and equal claims of how they had all created the bicycle, but if you chose to ask a random person on the street who the inventor of the bicycle was, they'd instantly come up with one of these four mens’ names. Not all of them. That’s due to nothing more than human ignorance and belittlement, but it does make something inside of me ache when those around me do not acknowledge beautiful and ingenious things because it is similar to something else in the slightest of ways. 

And yet, the same people who will not give Kirkpatrick Macmillan the credit he deserves, spew false facts along the lines of Thomas Edison being the first person to ever invent the lightbulb- which is not true. He was one to create a filament that wouldn’t burn out as quickly as the other lightbulbs that existed at the time, but he was not the one to have a sudden light bulb occur within his brain and create the thing from scratch. (Pun was not intended, but I will be sticking with it.) Humphry Davy was the first man to ever create electric light in the year of 1802- 45 years before the man known as Thomas Edison would be born. And even his founding of the light bulb had been based off of other scientists’ research. He experimented with electricity and invented an electric battery. When he connected wires to his battery and a piece of carbon, the carbon glowed, producing light. The idea to ever do such a thing in the first place, had been built from the creations and hours of work done by hundreds of other inventors throughout time. 

All great things are built off of the work of others. Even if it is considered being the tiniest and immaculate thing, it was most definitely something that contributed towards something as large in scale as the idea to create a touch-screen cell phone. Even if it seems to be the most original idea in the entire world at the time, you will someday stumble upon something similar to it. Human minds are wired in similar ways- like how we find inspiration in similar things; easy example being RomCom cliches. If you have ever watched a k-drama based off of a relationship, more than once you have seen a main character in the hospital. 

Someone thought out the plot to that drama for months, and they most likely did it with something else in mind. We all are inspired to create something at some point in our vast lives; it doesn’t matter if you do happen to be an inventor or a five-year-old child playing outside when the idea hits you. Those ideas don’t come from nothing, however. You see something up in the sky, listen to a song, or hear something when you suddenly have the idea imbedded into your skull. Afterwards, it will attach itself to the interior of your mind and it never fails to bother you. It continues to ask on repeat: “are you ever going to follow through with that idea?” All until you’re at your limit and you begin to construct. 

Because even before the bicycle made its first appearance, the wheel had to have been invented. 

 

“ _Eren Jaeger._ ” 

I immediately sat up at my desk; acting as if I hadn’t fallen asleep during my History class for the fourth time that semester. It wasn't even among the lines of the ordeal being fueled from my own fault of not falling asleep at night and originating from the acts of being on a phone or merely a distraction from myself. This time, it was Jean who had kept me awake after he had decided to come over extremely late and crawl through my bedroom window like something out of a chick-flick. 

My eyes traveled around the room until they landed on my History professor, Mr. Smith. He was better known for the unprofessional title of Erwin, his first name, and even “Mr. Handsome” by several of the girls and omegas who attended his class without the slightest thought of History on their minds. I, however, was one to actually have interest in the subject of the matter, unlike the others in the same class as me who spent the entirety of the fifty-minute period staring at the professor’s ass. I have to admit the guy obviously did mad squats in his spare time to have an ass like that, but he was my teacher. I wasn’t attracted to him sexually or romantically in the slightest. It was probably because I was an alpha, but I had never been one to only be attracted to Omegas like most Alphas were. 

After a few seconds of confusion from me, Mr. Smith sighing, and the class breaking out into quiet laughter and giggles, I looked straight at the board and observed what we were studying. It was about Texas during the 1800s and when it was first becoming a state. Luckily for me, I knew what section we were studying and made an inference that that we were in a section regarding how Texas had wanted to become part of the United States; asking if the U.S. would annex Texas. I quickly made a hypothesis on what Mr. Smith would be asking.

“James K. Polk,” I stated matter-of-factly, thinking that he might’ve been asking who finally approved Texas’s plea to join. 

“False,” Mr. Smith barked. I jumped in my seat at his loud, booming voice. “The man who was the dictator of Mexico at the time was Antonio de Padua María Severino López de Santa Anna y Pérez de Lebrón, often known as Santa Anna or López de Santa Anna.” The fact that Erwin had expected for me to remember such a long name was mind-boggling, “And do you remember what he was most commonly referred to as?” 

I stared blankly at Mr. Smith’s akimbo figure, “a stuck-up asshole?”

The class broke out in small snickers as Mr. Smith rolled his eyes, “Language, Eren. He was actually called the “Napoleon of the West” due to his harsh nature and tight ruling over the Mexican country after Stephen Austin’s son told Santa Anna that the plan for independence was on its way. Of course, you would know this if you hadn’t been sleeping the entirety of my class.” 

I offered him a small smile of apology, “Sorry, Mr. Smith. It won’t happen again.”

Erwin clicked his tongue and turned back around to the board in front of him, “See to it; now class, please open your books to section two. Today, we will be going over the Mormon Church and its impact in founding Utah.” 

I begrudgingly flipped open my heavy textbook. 

 

Jean slammed his laptop shut, walking to his locker and mine right next to it after the bell for the last period before lunch rang out through the halls. Seconds after we reached the metal boxes, classroom doors flew open and people flooded into the thin room the builders believed to be suitable for nearly 500 students; all either walking straight to the cafeteria or to their lockers in the same fashion as us. 

“ _”Shameless”_ all hour like last time? Or do you want to switch it up with some of _”The Office”_ ” I asked Jean while he was reaching into his locker to fish out his paper bag filled with three sandwiches (one for me, two for him) and popcorn that he had popped that morning at my house after he decided to spend the night unannounced.

Jean slammed his locker shut and slid his laptop under his arm, “Neither. I’m thinkin’ more of somethin’ along the lines of stopmotion.”

“Like _”Coraline”_ stopmotion or _”ParaNorman”_ stopmotion?” We walked towards the exit, dodging any of the teachers that would like to keep us in their rooms for the hour after reminding us of lunch detentions that we still needed to serve.

“ _”Anomalasia”_ stopmotion.” 

“Wow, I thought that you were gonna recommend _”Silence of the Lambs”_ again,” I laughed and pushed open the doors to the front of the school. The metal groaned in protest at my harsh treatment.

Jean rolled his eyes, “Maybe I’m tired of watching _”Garden State”_ every single week; maybe I want to mix it up a lil’ bit. I’m tired of watching your goddamn hipster movies every fuckin’ day.” We spotted the tree located outside of our English teacher’s room and plopped down onto the green grass, avoiding any fallen stick that might’ve made the ground their newest home after the windstorm a few days prior.

“Yeah, and _”Anomalisa”_ _isn’t_ a hipster movie,” an unattractive snort bounced from my vocal chords. “An actual hipster movie would be somethin’ like _”Her”_.

Jean re-opened his laptop and loaded up Netflix and a few other sights where you could watch movies, “We are _not_ watching that movie again. Samantha’s voice is just too… _creepy_. It’s like she’s inside of your head when you watch it with headphones.” The male shuddered at the memory of watching the film and then having the inability to sleep that night due to the character’s head still resonating off of the walls of his mind. 

“Pussy,” I joked.

“Whatever. Let’s just watch _”Inside Llewyn Davis”_ and never bring up _”Her”_ ever again as long as I’m still alive, hmm?” He started typing the name of the movie into the search bar and I eventually gave up on trying to persuade him to watch anything other than movies filed under the category “Hipster.” You could tell him that all of the movies he watched were indie, but he would deny it and say that they were comedies and/or slice-of-life films because he thought that indie movies were too “girly.”

I wasn’t going to complain anymore than I already had. I loved Llewyn Davis and his cat. Sighing, I sat back against the tree and let my eyes fall onto the screen. As the movie began to play, I sat up again.

“How ‘bout _”Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless M-”_ ”

“No.”

 

“No, Eren, you do not have a choice.”

“But I actually don’t know him at all. He probably hates me anyways from calling him like I had,” I turned on my heel and chose to walk away from my Mother; an act that was practically calling for the woman to eviscerate me on the spot. I would rather like to keep all of my organs inside of myself today, but I knew as soon as I turned that Mom was going to disembowel me for being so rude. 

“Eren,” she called. I could already tell that she had her arms crossed and she was ready to yell at me for not wanting to hang out with Levi Ackerman. I didn’t know Levi practically at all, and I barely saw him at school nowadays. When I was younger I had been more acquainted with him- but even then I wasn’t necessarily considered a friend of his. I knew his name and what he looked like. Everything else was hidden behind a facade. 

I heard footsteps behind me as I approached the steps leading to my room and I sped up, jogging up the steps at two at a time. 

“Eren Michael Jaeger, you are going to visit Levi after school from now on, and if you do not, I will take away your camera,” she continued following me up to the staircase and then to my room, catching the door as soon as I began to swing it shut. Sometimes I forget that my Mother still lifts weights even after her boxing years during college and high school. Anyone who says that Omegas aren’t strong is a fucking liar. I’ve seen this woman push a car out of a ditch by herself after my father parked it there when we went to the park during my childhood. When we went, it had started to rain our car had gotten stuck in the mud. My father had just recently broken his arm and he could not help with removing the car from the ditch.

I was only five at the time as well, and I was unable to help even though I wished to. After a few minutes of Dad pulling out his phone and offering to call a tow truck service, Mom had grabbed Dad’s phone and tossed it in the back seat with me. Without a second of hesitation, she opened the door to the car and got out. She didn’t even flinch as she stepped into the freezing rain and walked around the back of the vehicle; ignoring my Father yelling out the window for her to get back inside so she did not freeze.

Mom didn’t care. She just told him to lay on the gas. 

“Mom,” I groaned, ignoring the way that she followed me inside and watched as I flopped down onto my bed. I buried my face into the pillows and tried to block out her endless nagging. I didn’t want to go to the Ackerman household. I had been there once in my entire life, and I knew that I didn’t want to go back. It was a nice house and the Ackerman’s were a decent family, but it had been so godly awkward. I was only eight when I went there and I didn’t remember much of the house itself. I did, however, remember the way that Kutchel had talked to me for hours on end about her ex-husband. She also complained about her brother for almost the entire time that we had been there for dinner, and Levi almost never left his room during that time. 

“I just don’t want to go- it’s going to be awkward.”

“I don’t care. It’s not like he’s a female-omega,” she rolled her eyes.

I lifted my head from the mattress, “It’s not that,” I said angrily. “I just- it doesn’t seem reasonable in the least to do this. He thinks it’s pity, Mom. It will just make the entire situation ten times worse than it already is. He doesn’t want others to feel bad for him- and suddenly jumping back into his life like this only gives him the impression of that’s what I’m doing.”

Mom sighed at my words but didn’t deny them. If anything, she knew exactly that’s how Levi would feel if I wanted to be friends with him after not speaking with him at months at a time. It’s not the slightest bit of a whisper, either. It’s a full blown shout of “I want to help even though I can’t, and in some twisted, fucked up way this is a cry for attention.” Levi needed to have time with friends that he actually had. Friends that would comfort him in means that weren’t by threat of taking away a camera; honest reasons, good-hearted reasons with only the best of intentions.

“Give it a try,” was her attempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the ending seems a bit of the repeat from the previous one, but I promise that it will lead up to something. It has a reason for being repeated.

**Author's Note:**

> Parrots, pining, and pillows.
> 
> That'll explain itself later on.


End file.
